


The Frontiers of Your Sleep

by the_genderman



Category: Man and Boy - Rattigan, The Little Stranger (2018)
Genre: Anilingus, Kylux Adjacents, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Somnophilia, spookiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:42:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29768103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_genderman/pseuds/the_genderman
Summary: Basilday PWP. Doctor Faraday has very strong and very defined opinions on what is or is not proper for him to do. His shadow-self is has different opinions. Basil occasionally finds himself caught in the middle of the two of them.
Relationships: Basil Anthony/Dr Faraday (The Little Stranger)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	The Frontiers of Your Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, guess who’s writing a fic for an adjacents pairing where they’ve only seen half of the media they’re from? *sings* _What Sidney wants, Sidney gets_.
> 
> Based on [this](https://twitter.com/sigo_ao3/status/1365333951590588420) tweet/conversation.

Basil jolts awake, climbing rapidly out of the fuzziness of sleep. It’s still dark out, so he can’t have been asleep for very long. Faraday was already sleeping when he finally made it back to the apartment, barely even stirring when he quietly, carefully slid into bed next to him and put an arm around him, pulling him in close. They’ve both had an exhausting week, and he had been hoping to get the remainder of a good night’s sleep so they can spend as much of their Sunday awake together. He certainly doesn’t mind the extra exposure, the chances to play his own compositions, and the time on his favorite instrument, but the long hours working late into the nights keep him away from his doctor. Faraday can be a bit closed off, a bit stiff and, Basil can admit it, a bit _conservative_ in some of his ideas, but he misses him nonetheless. Can anyone explain love? Poets, painters, philosophers, writers, and, yes, musicians too have been trying to explain love for thousands of years and the only thing people can agree on is that love is complex and makes people do stupid things. And wonderful things. And, yes, even some things they might not otherwise do.

Such as waking ones lover with an unnaturally cold tongue tickling his asshole and the ghost of a mustache against his skin. The temperature suggests that Faraday is not, perhaps, entirely aware of what he’s doing. One of the side-effects to having certain paranormal abilities that tend to flare up when he’s feeling particularly stressed or possessive. Apparently he’s feeling possessive tonight, and Sidney—as Basil’s taken to calling the poltergeist, since Faraday _does_ possess that name even if he doesn’t generally use it, and Sidney is an unusual if integral part of him—is in an amorous mood. And didn’t particularly want to wait until morning when they were all awake. Sidney is at his most tangible when Faraday is asleep, in high emotion, or otherwise uninhibited, and for Sidney to have pulled Basil’s pajama bottoms all the way off in order to finagle his tongue into his asshole, then Faraday must be dead tired.

Especially since when he’s awake, anilingus is one thing Faraday refuses to do. He’s not opposed to the act in principle—once he’s scrubbed himself sufficiently clean, he will allow Basil to perform it on him and he does seem to enjoy it—but he can’t bring himself to put his mouth anywhere near Basil’s asshole. Basil understands and doesn’t hold it against him. He’s assured Faraday he’d never ask him to make himself uncomfortable for his pleasure alone. What’s the point in taking a lover if you’re not going to enter into a partnership of equals and mutual respect?

“Eager, aren’t we?” Basil murmurs as he shifts a little, draping one leg over Faraday’s to give Sidney easier access. He might have preferred if Sidney had _asked_ first, but he’s not sure if the poltergeist can speak, or if he’s only able to write on the walls. And seeing ‘ _may I lick your arse?_ ’ in flaming letters on the wall _might_ just have killed the mood a bit. 

Sidney’s only reply is to dig his spectral fingers into Basil’s buttocks, pulling them wider apart to lap his tongue wetly over his hole. Sidney’s quite cold, but it’s oddly not entirely unpleasant. Basil squirms and bites his lip, trying to get comfortable without waking Faraday. He’s never been able to get a clear answer out of Faraday about whether Sidney initiating sex means _he_ ’s consented or not; Faraday usually turns red and changes the subject. Basil knows not to push too hard once Faraday’s deemed a conversation over or else he’ll be buying new light bulbs or scrubbing ink off of the floorboards while Faraday mumbles apologies for Sidney’s actions and promises to try to keep him away from the pens in the future. It hasn’t worked yet, but Basil knows he’s trying.

At any rate, Sidney seems to take great pleasure in teasing Basil, who in turn draws Faraday into his gratification. Basil whines as Sidney’s tongue explores him, dragging over his perineum, up the cleft of his ass and back down to dip into his hole. Slowly, slowly, Sidney opens him up, pushing his tongue deeper, pulling out to tease him again, and then back into him, deeper than he would have thought possible. Basil stifles another whine and buries his face in Faraday’s shoulder, pulling him closer even while trying to keep from waking him. If he wakes him, he’ll have to explain what he was doing, but also Sidney will fade away, leaving him unsatisfied, unfinished. Maybe it’s selfish of him, but he wants this, he needs this. Basil pulls Faraday into an enveloping embrace with one arm, while the other wriggles down between them to wrap around his cock.

Icy fingers alight on his and Basil pauses, a moan caught in his throat. He stills, wondering what Sidney wants from him. Slowly but none too gently, Sidney peels back Basil’s fingers. Basil freezes, not wanting even to draw breath, as Faraday shifts in his sleep, pressing back against him and trapping Basil’s cock between their bodies. Sidney rucks Faraday’s shirt up and pulls the waistband of his pants down a little, urging Basil up against his skin.

“Are you sure?” Basil whispers nearly inaudibly. “He doesn’t—you don’t?—like it when I make a mess of him. He’ll know what I did.”

A sibilance like a gust of wind, a flickering of phantom candles, and Basil feels cold fingers around his cock, gripping him tighter while Sidney’s tongue penetrates him again, mustache prickling between his buttocks. His gasp transmutes into a moan, wanton and debauched. He writhes and his hips stutter as Sidney alternates between jerking him, licking him and fucking him with his tongue, a manifestation of the deep unspoken lusts of a man who has been told his desires are unnatural, unbecoming, unseeming, and an almost childish _need_ to take whatever he wants. Basil allows himself to be fucked and to be guided as he ruts against his lover.

Basil comes panting, his cock trapped between his stomach and Faraday’s back, the two of them pressed together like they had been made to fit into each other. After a moment of stillness, of belonging, Basil untwines his very being from Faraday’s body, feeling Sidney slide out of him, leaving a trail of ghostly saliva leaking from his hole. He gives Faraday a reassuring squeeze, a kiss to the back of the neck, and climbs softly, carefully out of bed to go get a washcloth for both of them. Making sure it’s not too cold or too wet, he returns to gently clean his release off of Faraday’s back. There’s not much he can do about his shirt, but at least he can do this for him so he doesn’t wake quite so sticky and uncomfortable.

Finding his pajama pants, Basil pulls them back on and takes his place at Faraday’s back again. He sighs, deep and contented, drifting off to sleep with his lover in his arms.


End file.
